


Got To Be Real

by kalena



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot, Romance, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalena/pseuds/kalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve sort of accidentally takes one of Danny's ties.  He uses it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got To Be Real

**Author's Note:**

> Stellarmeadow asked for it; JiM provided beta, her fabulous brainz, and the last lines.

"Hey, you found my tie!" Danny's walking out of the laundry room, thinking this is normal. He doesn't even have a reason for a rant yet. "Where was it?"

^^^

Steve found it in Danny's closet. He was pacing Danny's tiny apartment, waiting while Danny ducked in to shower off the muck. He'd taken down the perp single-handed in the red-dirt wallow behind the stable. "Got a problem? Why not call us? We really do ride to the rescue!"

Steve couldn't help laughing, but Danny's final command rang in his ears: "Do not, upon pain of evisceration, poke around in my stuff! It's my stuff, and your nose has no business in it! Here, read a book," and Charlotte's Web was thrust into his hands. 

"Evisceration, really?" 

"Curiosity killed the SEAL!" 

Danny disappeared into the bathroom, but Steve's curiosity, always bubbling, boiled over.

There were condoms and lube in the side table drawer, but the porn was girls, girls, girls, he noted wryly. Nothing of interest in the cheap pressboard dresser besides proof that Danny wore briefs, which he knew already from the panty lines. Danny's slacks fit him well and left little to Steve's vivid imagination.

In the tiny dormitory closet there were clothes packed wall to wall. Steve hadn't been sure that Danny owned more than one pair of khakis, but there they all were. Slacks, shirts, a basket of dirty clothes, and a crappy chrome tie rack that looked like a tuna skeleton suspended from a hanger. Two tie racks, in fact; one behind the other, and both held more ties than Steve had ever seen him wear. He kept track of them, as he kept track of all things Danny. 

He rifled curiously through the hidden ties, pulling out one that was particularly pretty. Danny'd never worn it; he couldn't imagine why. It was a beautiful blue that mirrored his eyes. Even by itself it was a nice piece of fabric, soft and dully shimmering in the dim bedroom light, with imperfections nubbled into its weave. 

Steve didn't need the designer label to know it was expensive. He slid it between his knuckles, fascinated. This piece of cloth, meant to be worn warm and snug around a man's neck, belonged to Danny. It was a symbol of who he was – a man out of step on this balmy island, strong and purposeful, different from the rest. A man who insisted on walking his own path. That was Danny, all right.

Steve knew it didn't come from Grace; Danny wore those all the time, no matter how outrageous. He showed up in a Nemo tie a couple times, claiming it was very Hawaiian. "It's a tropical fish, so shut up!"

When the water shut off, without thinking he stuffed the tie into a cargo pocket and grabbed the fresh clothes.

A drier, cleaner and much happier Danny pointed at the bulging pocket. "You collecting food like a chipmunk?"

Feeling like an utter ass, he was about to claim he forgot it and give the tie back when Danny said, "No, wait, I do not want to know what's in your pockets. Given today's expedition, it could be anything. And I swear to God, if you are carrying live ordnance, I will end you before you end both of us." 

After that, Steve forgets about it. Until he gets home.

About to throw the cargoes into the hamper, he catches himself and pulls out the tie. He goes with his gut, but his gut doesn't usually tell him to swipe his friends' clothing. What is he doing? He's fondling a freaking tie. Who cares about ties? Only Danny. It's liquid-slick between his fingers.

Curious, he brushes it against his face. It smells faintly of Danny's cologne, and in his imagination it carries the warmth of Danny's body. God. The very thought makes him shudder. Danny, his best friend, so close and yet so far. Danny, covered with mud, shirt half-torn from his hard body, wild with victory. Danny in the shower, water sluicing off his abs and flowing down over his cock as it travels on through the coarse blond hair on his heavily muscled thighs.

To be that water . . .

As often as he tries to tell himself that it's not like that, no, he doesn't spend his spare time daydreaming about his best friend, he does anyway. 

The edge of the tie brushes across his lips and his tongue reaches out greedily for it. He's sucking on the goddamn tie and he can't stop himself. It belongs to Danny, and it's the only thing of Danny's that he can have. He pulls the tie taut and uses it to scrub his nipples. He pinches their hardness through the tie, pretending it's Danny's hands on him. His handjobs don't usually get so elaborate, he's learned to be efficient if nothing else, but this is a special case. 

The tie snakes its way lower. It tickles his belly, catches in the dark curly hair low down. It's so good. His knees threaten to give out when he drags the thing across his cock. It's standing hard up, almost against his belly, begging for Danny's attention. There's a seam up the back of the tie that's extra line of pressure behind the glide of silk, and if he flips the tie over, the label gently scrapes his shaft.

Yes. Oh, God, yes. He stumbles to the bed, not knowing or caring how he got to this place. Crushing the tie to his face, he takes in a last drag of Danny's scent and pushes it down to his desperate cock. The slip and slide of the silk is just what he's needed for so long. His grip is Danny's grip, hard and sure and relentless, and he cries out as the silk catches damply against the tender head.

He tries to make it last, fingers clutching tight around the base of his cock, but he can't. He's gasping and twisted and alone on top of the bed his father slept on. There's no Danny, no arm around him, and he can never give the tie back now. He's nothing but a creep, a poor-quality pervert, not even an interesting one. He rolls to one side, presses the tie to his cheek, and promises himself he'll never do this again.

The promise he made doesn't quite pan out. For all the self-control he likes to think he has, it vanishes like the ocean mist after he sees Danny curled in his hospital bed with Rachel. He goes straight home and pulls the tie out of its hiding place, tucked away in a secret spot as if he was trying to hide it from himself. Hiding it just makes him feel dirtier. Why bother when there's no one else around? 

And yet, you hide precious things, don't you?

It has small spots on it. He knows what they are. They don't stop him from doing the same thing again. It doesn't take long to erase Danny's glee from his mind, not when Danny's hand is around his cock and urging him on. He slumps against the wall, panting. It's the middle of the day and even though he wants to go to bed, hide under the covers, he doesn't. Instead, he pulls on board shorts and crashes through chop until he's exhausted, hoping to wash himself clean.

After Rachel, again, and after prison, he's through with shame. Danny doesn't wear ties any more anyway. This is just a taste of what he could have had . . . if only. 

One particularly bad day (so good, so never-to-be-repeated good day), he wrapped the tie around his balls and dick; not too tight, he's not that kind of guy. He leaves the wide end tucked up against the crack of his ass. Suddenly he knows why women wear silk. It feels incredible. He drags his boxer briefs up over the whole package and goes to work. 

It's just a little pleasure to see him through another day. 

He spends the entire day -- driving, reading, arguing with Danny, reporting to the Governor, eating lunch with Kamekona -- with Danny's tie wrapped snugly around his privates. His dick keeps trying to get hard, and it's just uncomfortable enough to make him aware, every minute, of what he's taken, what he's using. It's his drug of choice. By the time he gets home he's so ready to be hard, so ready to come, that his fingers are cramped with need. 

He opens his pants, pulls down the briefs. He can't even take time to fully unwrap the tie; it's still curled loosely around his dick. By then he's diamond hard and, with a couple of strokes, spills onto the floor just inside the open doorway.

It's an obsession now, a dangerous distraction. It has to stop.

Then Danny's living with him and it does stop. Somehow Danny's presence calms his need, so much so that he's able to pick stupid arguments just to stir shit. That's when he knows for sure he's certifiable, but it keeps Danny entertained. Christ, he needs Danny. Not just his tie, not just Steve's pointless dreams, not just the thought of him. He needs Danny here. 

Somehow he forgot the first rule of forbidden drugs: it never ends. 

You always need more.

He can't get more. There's nothing he can do. Short of showing up in the dead of night at Danny's new apartment while he's asleep, and that has crossed his mind, there isn't any more Danny to have. Danny is still his own person, not Steve's. He can't stop the wanting, but it's muted as all Steve's fantasies gradually grind into dust. 

He shoves the tie, crumpled and stained, in the corner of a cupboard in the laundry room. It's as far away from his bedroom as it can get and still be inside this house. He sure as hell can't give it back, and he's afraid he'll never be able to throw it away. Besides, it's not Danny's tie any more. It's drenched with Steve and no amount of dry cleaning can change that.

It should be enough that he has friendship and the trust that he abuses on occasion. He's got as much of Danny's time and attention as anyone could want, and his brotherly love. That ought to be enough.

When Danny spearheads his rescue, he allows himself a moment of hope, but it comes to nothing. That shouldn't surprise him as much as it does.

Afterward he's so lost, unexpected anger rising at unpredictable times, and yeah, he knows they think he's suffering from PTSD, that Danny is constantly nagging him. "Eat this goddamn sandwich right now, food is not optional in any twenty-four hour period. Who died and made you Superman? When was the last time you got a decent night's sleep? Proper sleep hygiene is the foundation of our great American way . . ." and on and on. The sound of Danny's voice is the only thing that gets him through the day.

The night Danny comes over with beers in an obvious attempt to cheer him up -- Steve's not stupid even if Danny thinks he is – Danny also brings his laundry; it's a two-fer. It's been so long that Steve doesn't think twice about that. He's reminded abruptly when Danny pokes his head into the living room.

"Hey, you found my tie! Where was it?"

"Dunno." There's a reasonable excuse, and he uses it, relieved to get rid of the thing, to let it go at last. "Musta left it here." Well, that was anticlimatic. Steve very nearly feels robbed of his justly-deserved punishment. There should be some kind of reckoning for the insane thoughts he's had, never mind the tie itself.

"I did not." Danny's definite, triumphant. "I haven't seen this tie since Grace was the unicorn in her class play. I looked for it. I thought I lost it in the move!" He's confused, but still happy about the oddly distressed tie hanging from his fist.

Steve's got nothing. There is literally no way to explain why he took the tie. Steve doesn't even really understand it. How is he supposed to expose, let alone explain, his obsession? The words roll out without inflection. "I needed it."

"For what? A black ops mission that would only succeed if you wore the most expensive tie in my admittedly limited wardrobe?"

And now Steve feels even worse. He knew all along, better than anyone else, how little Danny has. Steve stole one of his few possessions so he could jerk off with it. There just isn't anything shittier than that.

"It was the only thing that went with your SEAL-themed tux? You used it to bait a trap for tie-loving homicidal maniacs?" Danny's words are kidding, but his eyes are not. "Okay, what it looks like," and Steve freezes, waits for it, "it looks like you washed and waxed your truck with it." Incomprehension stops him as he peers at Steve's face turning away, the helpless shrug, the "Sorry." 

The worst thing about this moment, Steve thinks, is watching the erosion of Danny's trust in him. It's like watching sand flow away from beneath his feet as the tide goes out. 

Then, slowly, the tide changes. 

He wonders if it has anything to do with the grip of his hand on Danny's arm. When did he reach out? Now Danny's hand is wrapped around his forearm, too.

"You know what?" says Danny, looking him carefully up and down. "You needed my tie. I don't care why you needed it. It doesn't matter." He's serious. Whatever he thinks he's saying, he's serious about it. "Anything I've got, you can have. What's mine is yours. I mean it."

"Anything?" A thin line of possibility appears, drifting before him, and he reaches out to catch it with both hands. 

"Of course, anything. Who came to get you in North Korea? What more do you want?"

His brain latches on to the one real thing he wants, and shoves it out of his mouth before he can grit his teeth. "Love me."

Danny's got a crooked smile, and everything about him softens just a little bit. "I love you."

"No," he says uncertainly. Not like that.

The smile fades. "I made mistakes, Steven. Big mistakes. That's over. Things are different now." Danny's voice is low and just a little rough in his ear, his hands heavy and warm where they hold Steve's shoulders. "You can have everything." 

"It's just," and now he's babbling, spewing words. He shouldn't be talking. He should never talk. That's Danny's job. "I wanted, so much, still want it now." Then Steve's crushing him, he must be, arms wrapped all the way around and his hand on the back of Danny's neck, pulling him in, but Danny just laughs. It's a wheezy, breezy sound. 

"Need the ribs, but you can have everything else."

"Yeah," he says, loosening his hold. It's enough for air. "Yeah, I want everything. Where do I sign?"

Danny's solid arms are circling him now, too. "This is the dotted line, babe."

His blood surges in his ears. Steve feels like he's been let out of prison again, and this time is so much more important than the last time. He tucks his face against Danny's neck to get the real deal, not just the off-scent of faded cologne. The weave of the shirt and the blond wisps under his fingers get just as much attention. He's bombarded by scents and textures where once there was only one.

He never knew how important beard stubble is. As he strings uncareful kisses along that strong jaw, it's one more thing that takes him out of the realm of fantasy and into reality. Danny's arms let him know he's not alone, that he's wanted, that he's loved. It isn't his overheated imagination. Steve knows that's real, because even in his fantasies, he never went there. 

How could he? There's so much to this . . . _this_. Danny is so much.

"Mmmmm." The sound vibrates against Steve's abraded lips. "You ever done this before?" 

"Why?" The excitement is rolling in his gut. "You got something I've never seen?"

"Just, I don't know." Danny sounds calm, but Steve can tell he's not. Fingers slide into his hair along the nape of his neck, and they might be quivering. He knows he is. He thinks that if he ever gets Danny's dick in his mouth, it could kill him.

"It seems a little off the wall, that's all. Here I've been moping around all this time, pining for my big strong Superman," and Steve bursts out laughing at that one but Danny doesn't. 

Instead of letting him finish, Steve can't help asking. "Pining?"

"So much pining. A whole furniture store's worth," Danny claims solemnly.

"Got you beat. Home Depot, here." He's not embarrassed if Danny isn't. 

He leans in to that perfect mouth, but one of them shifted somehow and their teeth click together hard. Kissing Danny is electric, crazy, something his daydreams could never match. Steve doesn't think he'll ever get enough of _real_. He brushes a light kiss in apology. That's just as good, soft and sweet, and their lips try to cling as he tips his head back.

"I said you were a topper," Danny breathes hot against his cheek. "Didn't I say you were a topper?"

"Wouldn't you like to know for sure?"

"I think we're going to find out."

"Listen, why don't we take this show upstairs?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

He makes Danny go up first. He's not letting him get away, and besides, this way he can hang on to Danny's narrow hips and bite his broad shoulders through the cotton of his shirt.

Undressing Danny is a thrill more powerful than skydiving. Every fresh patch of bare skin gets signed by Steve's hands, and after he finally makes it to that thick, heavy cock, it's a short trip for both of them. When Danny comes in his mouth with a grunt, the taste and the sound go straight to his balls. He needs only a few hard strokes to reach nirvana from there, and he's just lucky he managed to unzip first.

From one knee he rolls over onto the floor, panting, as Danny drops his ass onto the edge of the bed. The oxford shirt's unbuttoned but it's still on him, and the khakis are wound around his ankles as he flops back. 

"Get up here, what's the matter with you, you prefer hardwood? Although I suppose it's the same for me, now." Reaching for Steve's hand, he pulls him up alongside. "So, are you going to take your clothes off? And also, what was the thing with the tie, anyway?"

Steve's mighty damned glad he's still got both his shirts on, because there's a slow river of hot color crawling up from his chest. He doesn't want to talk about it, and he ought to lie – say any asinine thing – but he can't. Instead he holds his right hand up where Danny can see it and mimes the action.

"Wait, you . . . you used it for. Oh, my God. You've been having an affair with my tie?" He sounds utterly boggled.

He can feel the red wash up the back of his neck and burn his ears. "I, uh. Maybe. So what? It's just a fucking tie." His attempt at belligerence, pointed toward the ceiling, fails utterly.

"Don't look like that. It's okay, I always knew you were crazy. Besides, it's freaking hot, thinking about you doing that. Jacking yourself with my tie wrapped around your dick, the head sticking out, silk in between your fingers -- holy Christ, babe, that's, I'll never get that vision out of my head." Danny tilts Steve's still-hot face toward him. He gets gentler, quieter. "You should have just asked me."

That brings Steve up short. "For your tie?"

"No, you idiot, not for my tie." Danny's palm cups his face, and his thumb strokes over Steve's bottom lip.

"Yeah. Right." The last few months of loneliness lurch in his gut. "Because you didn't really want to get back together with your ex-wife, and you haven't spent months with Gabrielle _and_ introduced her to Grace." He's grateful that his voice stays steady. "That's been going on the whole time I was wining and dining your tie."

"I'm sorry." Danny's fingers tense in Steve's hair. "I think I knew everything when I pulled open the tarp and looked inside that truck. If you hadn't been alive in there, I don't even know. I just didn't know what to do about it. Like I said, mistakes. And besides, Grace likes to be with you a lot more than she likes Gabi."

"Okay. So I'm guessing you'll spend the night." Steve can afford to be magnanimous when Danny's next to him, mostly naked. He checks his watch and grins. "In that case, we'd better get our schedule together. We've got twelve hours before we go to work, and you need to watch the Devils kick the Panthers' asses in ten minutes." He couldn't care less, but it's always fun to tweak Danny. "And after that . . . well, we wouldn't want to oversleep and be late for work tomorrow." 

"Asshole. You're going to record the game, and I'm going to call my boss and tell him I'm taking tomorrow off. We'll be too tired to chase bad guys." 

While Danny's sitting up, shrugging away his shirt and toeing off his shoes, he points to the tie. Somehow it managed to make it up the stairs with them and it's in a sky-blue heap on the floor. "Look," he says. "It followed you home. I think it misses you." 

"I have a certain lingering appreciation, too." He should; he's had more orgasms with it than he ever did with any actual person.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve's never seen the sly look Danny's wearing now. "I'm betting you might enjoy a threesome."

"Maybe." Oh, _hell_ yeah. Him, Danny, and a four foot length of silk. His cock manages to lift a little just at the idea. Unfortunately, Danny notices.

"In fact, since my partner likes it so much, I should probably have it cleaned and pressed and start wearing it to work."

Steve stares at him, aghast. "You wouldn't!"

Danny laughs. "Oh, you underestimate me, my friend."

What else can he do? Steve grabs Danny, shoves him onto the bed, and pins him there. "You should know that I wore to your tie to work a few weeks back." His grin is evil as he watches Danny shuffle through the possibilities. Those brilliant blue eyes widen.

Danny clears his throat weakly. "You're kidding." 

"Nope." He watches with great satisfaction. Danny looks like he's fit to be tied. 

Steve sincerely hopes he is.


End file.
